


Frostbite

by Epi_girl



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eiffel needs help, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Singular mention of Miranda Pryce, U.S.S. horrible unending nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 13:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14021493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epi_girl/pseuds/Epi_girl
Summary: Douglas Eiffel hates the cold.





	Frostbite

Douglas Eiffel hates the cold.

He can’t stand the way it makes him feel, like something is slowly creeping up his body, threatening to take him under and send him into darkness. He despises how it seems to pool around his fingers and toes and ears. It feels alien, like something from another world, sitting around him until it seeps in, hurting, maybe even killing him slowly. And worst of all... well. It makes him think about the USS Horrible Unending Nightmare. And he’d rather think about anything but that.

He thinks it’s an obvious fact.

After all, he’s always wearing at least two layers, the temperature in his room is quite a bit higher than the rest of the house, and he hasn’t worn a t-shirt or a tank top in the entire time he’s been back on earth.

(Well, except for the few months where he couldn’t remember anything. Thank god for Lovelace and her lawsuit. And Hera being able to figure out how to reverse whatever the fuck Miranda Pryce did to his brain. But that wasn’t really him, he thinks, so it doesn’t count. Those months were someone else’s.)

But when winter rolls around, and Eiffel starts wearing sweaters overtop of sweaters, not to mention a toque, it’s apparently odd.

Jacobi is the first to comment, because of course he is. He’s blunt and abrasive but not unkind, and he swears he can hear a note of concern in the other man’s usual disinterested tone as he asks, “What’s with all the layers lately, Eiffel? We aren’t in space anymore, air conditioning is actually a stable thing, y’know.” tugging lightly at one of the sleeves.

And although he laughs it off, it makes him realize that maybe they haven’t noticed how much he hates the cold. The last thing he wants is to worry them, so he tones it down a little, but not much, getting rid of the toque and a few sweaters, but he’s still wearing too many insulated long sleeved shirts, well beyond any normal amount on a regular basis.

Which is, he supposes, still extremely strange to his friends, considering the fact that Hera brings it up next, speaking in a tone that Eiffel imagines would include a raised eyebrow if she had any physical features.

“Offi- Sorry, Eiffel? May I ask you a question?”

He blinks a couple times at the ceiling, laying back on his bed as he stares upwards absently as he does so often now. “Uh, yeah, shoot.”

She does this thing where she sounds like she’s clearing her throat, and just asks “Are you doing alright?”

“Wh- yeah I’m okay, Hera, where’d that come from?”

“You just seem... you’re wearing a lot of warm clothing. And you’re a lot jumpier than usual. Is something going on?” She pauses. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m not, just...” Eiffel sighs.

  
“I don’t like being cold.”

(That’s an understatement.)

-*-*-*-

As winter goes on, so do the questions.

They’re easy enough to brush off at first, little things that don’t hold much weight from Lovelace and Minkowski and the others. A simple ‘just chilly’ is usually enough, and they’ll leave him be, and it’s fine.

The questions get more invasive, harder to ignore, more frequent, and Eiffel retreats.

He spends most days in bed now, barely leaving his room, and he knows that nobody’s seen him outside of it for at least a week, maybe longer. He just does things out there when everyone’s asleep. Though, that being said, he’s had some close calls with Jacobi a couple of times. (He seems to have an odd penchant for waking up at 2 in the morning for unknown reasons. It’s a little worrisome.)

Though he isn’t cold in his room, he’s is alone.

That, he thinks, might be just as bad.

-*-*-*-

Eiffel really only talks to Hera, for a while. She’s a good conversation partner, calm and willing to discuss things that aren’t his increasingly unhealthy isolation, and before he knows it, she’s talked him into actually going outside, and not wearing half his body weight in clothing. She’s more persuasive than anyone gives her credit for.

Of course, that has to be on the day the thermostat decides to break down.

It’s almost like they’re back on the Hephaestus, the way it happens. Things are just fine, and though it’s a little uncomfortable, given that he’s showing his face for the first time in god knows how long, and he can tell Minkowski’s gonna make him talk about that, it’s okay. Safe, if a little awkward, and okay.

When the temperature starts to drop, that changes.

No one seems to notice the shift at first, but Eiffel does. He feels the change, forcing himself not to stiffen as the hair on the back of his neck starts to rise, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he shifts in his chair, drumming out a soft rhythm on the dining room table. Nothing else is any different, he can still hear Jacobi doing something ungodly with a Roomba, Lovelace is scrolling absently through her phone on the couch, and given the clanking behind him, he’s willing to bet Minkowski is still washing dishes.

(He doesn’t feel safe anymore.)

The temperature falls further, he’d venture to guess about 10 degrees, and he hears a voice from behind him- it’s Minkowski, of course it is- muffled over the sound of his rising heartbeat.

“Hera, is something wrong with the heating system?”

She sounds so calm, and he wishes he was anywhere near that calm, his body tense and hands shaking, because he can feel himself remembering, and he desperately wants to forget.

“Just a moment, Comman- Minkowski, let me run a troubleshoot...”

Eiffel prays it’s fixable, because the heat is dissipating, leaving him with only the cold.

He just wants to be warm again.

There’s a soft ding and- “Whoops. Seems like there’s a little bug in the system, it should be fine if I just restart it.” Minkowski hums in an affirmative tone, the soft sound of running water accompanying it. “Alright,” Hera says, voice smooth as ever, “it’s going to be a little cold for a while, but-“

Eiffel stops listening after that, the pounding in his ears drowning out everything else as he stares down at the table, feeling the colour drain from his face.

Like Hera promised, it does get colder, the room falling further and further away from the heat, and he can almost feel the ice forming around him as his body starts to tremble, locking him in as darkness threatens to overwhelm. His vision blurs and he could almost swear the dark tabletop is actually a starry sky, ominous and threatening and endless as his body freezes over... he doesn’t want to go back, _please god don’t make me go back-_

 

“EIFFEL!”

 

The cry snaps him back to reality, partially, and there are hands on his shoulders and hot, wet tracks on his face, and he can hear Hera’s panicked voice rambling on so fast he can only pick out snippets. His body is trembling, almost violently, and someone- Minkowski, is shaking him as if to snap him out of a trance.

As he looks up to meet her gaze, eyes wide with fear as he takes shaky, too-quick breaths, fingernails he shouldn’t even have clawing at the tabletop, what strikes him the most is the expression on her face.

He knows that expression. Knows it well and hasn’t seen it in ages.

It’s just pure, undiluted concern.

There is a presence at his side, and his head jerks to see it, breathing picking up as he curls into himself, barely registering Minkowski’s soft shushing noises, presumably meant to calm him down. His panic-stricken gaze meets Lovelace, just as worried as she lays a hand on his shoulder with a quiet “it’s okay”, and Jacobi, stationed a little bit behind her, twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, something like concern just behind his unflappable facade.

But although they’re here, it’s still cold, unrelntingly, terrifyingly cold, and he can’t quite shake the thought that-

Eiffel feels strong arms around him, all of a sudden, and he knows who they belong to, and Minkowski is warm, so warm as she rests her head on his shoulder, speaking soft, uncertain comfort that he barely hears, but it’s there nonetheless.

He hugs her back, though it’s awkward across the table, and Lovelace tries to embrace him from the side in a way that is so perfectly reminiscent of her, loose and quiet, but confident as ever.

“You’re going to be okay, Eiffel.” Hera says, shaky voice radiating from above him.

  
It’s just enough to make him forget the cold.

-*-*-*-

They do make him talk about what happened, as expected. Minkowski sits him down on the couch with a near stern expression, Lovelace hovering nearby as Jacobi floats near the edges, shifting a little bit, out of his element again.

“Explain, Eiffel.” Minkowski practically demands, face and voice softening quickly. “Please.”

Jacobi pipes up as Lovelace nods, voice uncharacteristically open as he says “Seriously, you just had a breakdown, and none of us are really sure why. For the love of all that is holy, Eiffel, drop the weird emotional blockade, and talk to us.” (It’s odd. He barely knows the guy, and yet, it feels more than a little rewarding to hear him say something so clear, so caring.)

“Please do.” Hera joins in abruptly, and he can just hear the worry in her voice. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks, just... let us help you for once?

In that moment, Eiffel makes a decision he’ll either be relieved he made, or will live to regret.

He lets them in.

-*-*-*-

It’s been a while, quite a while since then. Spring’s come around, leaving the nerve-wracking chill of winter far behind, his breakdown at the table and the aftermath almost a distant memory.

Even with people there to help him, things can still be hard. Sometimes the temperature will fluctuate and he’ll spiral downwards into panic, or he’ll shiver and the image of the cryo pod will just rush right back into his mind.

But even so, it’s a lot easier to remind himself that he’s not trapped there anymore when everybody is around. When Minkowski is joking around with him, or when Hera and Lovelace playfight, and even when Jacobi tries to calm him down. He’s not alone anymore. He doesn’t have to be cold. He doesn’t have to fear being cold.

  
Douglas Eiffel doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.

 

 

So he isn’t.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a thing
> 
> It’s not very good but I wrote a thing and hurt my son


End file.
